


we are the ones who don’t slow down at all (and there’s nobody there to catch us when we fall)

by jeremystollemyheart



Category: Starlight Express - Phillips/Stilgoe/Webber
Genre: Discovery of Powers, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rusted Brakes, [john Mulaney voice] I think Pearl’s a lesbian, rusty has powers post-Starlight sequence, so does dustin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22399126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeremystollemyheart/pseuds/jeremystollemyheart
Summary: Between winning the race and getting the girl, Rusty has more important things to do than take care of a badly injured CB, but it’s looking like he doesn’t have much of a choice. It seems that the race has changed everything, including maybe Rusty himself.
Relationships: CB | Caboose/Rusty (Starlight Express), Rusty & Dustin, Rusty & Pearl
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	we are the ones who don’t slow down at all (and there’s nobody there to catch us when we fall)

**Author's Note:**

> My first multi-chapter StEx fic. Updates will come as I can get to them, but hopefully fairly regularly!
> 
> Rusty pulling both Dustin and Pearl to victory is heavily inspired by the second US tour.
> 
> Title comes from “Cry for Judas” by The Mountain Goats
> 
> Find me on tumblr at loveisstoredinthemisto!

_He had shaken her hand._ That was the single mortified thought ricocheting miserably through Rusty’s brain as he rolled home after the race. Pearl had finally confessed to having feelings for him, maybe even loving him, and in a moment of panic he had responded by extending his hand to her, open-palmed. The coach was so confused by the response that she had accepted the handshake, although without much enthusiasm. 

They did share a kiss afterwards, but it was brief and fumbling and confused, not at all what Rusty had imagined. He could only assume the moment had been ruined by the preceding awkwardness. 

“Good race,” he said as they pulled apart, even though it hadn’t been and they both knew it. He cringed, holding on to what was left of his dignity as tightly as he had held her hand earlier. 

“You too,” she responded, smiling and playing along politely, “And thank you—for everything.”

For rescuing her, she meant. Rusty was proud of that, at least. He had saved her and won the race, carrying both her and Dustin along to victory with him. It had felt good. Better than that, it had felt _easy._ He had been effortlessly strong and fast in a way he had never experienced before. 

And now he was the champion, and Pearl loved him, and if the kiss hadn’t been everything he had dreamed of, well there was always tomorrow, or the day after, or—

“Sure,” he said, a crooked grin spreading across his face. He ran a calloused thumb over her cheek, and she shied away with a ticklish giggle that melted into a yawn. 

“Sorry,” she said, trying to stifle it. 

“No, no. I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she agreed. They hugged, both seeming to understand implicitly that a second kiss would only make the parting more awkward. 

Moments after rolling away towards home, Rusty had been crushed by the weight of his own mortification at the hand shake. 

Those were the thoughts he lost himself in as he made his way past the now quiet race track, barely even acknowledging its presence, until a noise—a handful of them, actually—caught his attention.

He recognized the sounds long before he recognized who was making them. The first was a long, keening, shapeless whimper, punctuated only by a handful of pained gasps and groans. The second was the whirring, hissing, _crunching_ of broken machinery, wheels and axles that wanted to work, but didn’t. Those were the sounds of a train or car in distress, and Rusty, who had always had patience and a steady hand for repairs, knew them well. 

But the race track was empty, or at least it should have been. All the engines and cars had cleared out long ago to celebrate or to lick their wounds. To that end, Greaseball had left with Dinah, and Electra and his components had disappeared as well, to Starlight only knew where. Curious as to who possibly remained, Rusty crept closer towards the sound and saw a flash of red. His heart sank. The crumpled figure from whom the distressed sounds were emanating was CB. He was a tangled mess at the side of the track, his machinery grinding in a fruitless attempt at working. He trembled from what seemed to be a failed attempt to right himself and be on his way. He hadn’t noticed Rusty yet. 

Everything within Rusty told him to roll along, to leave and not look back. He had no reason to help CB, and no reason to believe the caboose would even want any help he might extend. He had every reason—every right to move along and leave his betrayer in the dust. But when he tried, he found that he couldn’t bring himself to move. 

It was clear he had been abandoned. Greaseball had Dinah to bandage his wounds, and Electra had his components always ready to fuss over him. In the rush, CB had been left by the wayside. Now that everyone knew the truth, no one seemed willing to associate with him, even enough to give him a hand up. 

Rusty was the last person who wanted to break that trend. But the whirring and clunking continued, and he could recognize the sound of a further injury waiting to happen when he heard it. After a few more of the unproductive attempts, CB would begin to really damage himself, possibly permanently. 

Cursing himself, Rusty rolled forward until he was directly behind CB, who still hadn’t looked up, seemingly lost in thought or unable to hear him. After a moment’s hesitation, he nudged just slightly at his back with the toe of his shoe, and asked, “Hey, do you need some help?”

The caboose jumped in surprise and then let out a strangled gasp, glancing up at Rusty with fierce eyes that had gone glassy with pain. There was a moment of confusion where he seemed to not totally process who stood above him, and then at last he scowled, “Leave me alone, Rusty.”

He could have taken that as a sign that he had done his duty. Instead, he took a deep breath, knelt, and said, “I don’t like the sound of those wheels. You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep trying to move on your own,” he received a barking laugh in response, but ignored it, “let me have a look,” he deftly grabbed CB’s left ankle and examined the wheels. One was crumpled, another turned at a nasty angle. He didn’t fare much better on the right side, where one hung by a thread. CB hissed in pain at the hand around his right ankle, and Rusty apologized under his breath, then prodded it gently. It was badly swollen. There were almost certainly some other injuries as well that he wasn’t seeing, but these were the likely culprits in why the caboose hadn’t been able to get himself upright yet. 

“There’s no way you can stand on this,” he announced at last. 

“Fine,” CB agreed, “leave me here.”

This was another test of patience that Rusty was tempted to fail. 

“I don’t suppose Greaseball and Dinah—“ he began by way of suggestion, but he was interrupted. 

“Forgot about me, or worse,” he didn’t elaborate on what “worse” meant, but Rusty could guess. Perhaps they hadn’t forgotten. Perhaps Greaseball hated him, and Dinah had finally given up on him. Either way, he was alone. 

“Right,” Rusty agreed, before slipping one hand behind CB’s back and another under the bend in his knees. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking you home. I can’t just leave you here.”

 _As much as I would like to,_ he added silently. 

CB felt surprisingly light, even lighter than his incredibly slight frame would have suggested. Maybe it was only adrenaline, but Rusty barely felt his weight. What he did feel was the way the red caboose squirmed fiercely in his grasp as he began to roll towards home—his home, because there was no way CB could take care of himself in that condition. He would let him spend the night, and decide what to do with him the next day. He adjusted his grip, at first assuming his charge was trying to find a comfortable position that supported his injuries. He quickly realized that, instead, he was just trying to be impossible to hold onto. 

“Stop that,” Rusty admonished, his voice stern, “You’re going to make me drop you.” 

The fidgeting did not stop altogether, but it lessened. CB crossed his arms, then hissed and flexed his fingers on one hand. Sparks flew from his elbow as he adjusted his position.

“Trust me, I don’t like this any more than you do. But I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight if I leave you here, so you’re coming with me.”

He began to roll towards home, trying to keep his balance and avoid bumps as much as possible. They only had about a mile to travel, but it was slow going, and although Rusty never tired, he did have to stop and regain his hold at times.

When all was said and done, the journey home took the better part of an hour. And by the time Rusty arrived at his door, taking the long way through the freight yard to avoid anyone who might stop them with questions, CB had fallen asleep.


End file.
